


The Next Chrestomanci?

by iamisaac



Category: Chrestomanci - Fandom, Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	The Next Chrestomanci?

Tom Riddle had expected repercussions from his work into immortality. Of course he had: only a fool would have thought otherwise, and Tom – or ‘Lord Voldemort’, as he preferred to be known to his intimates – was anything but a fool. One could not dice with the edge between life and death and walk away unscathed. What Tom had not anticipated, however, was the introduction of a particular man into his life.

The man was clearly shy; somewhat underformed and scrawny, and seemed unwilling to get to the point of his visit. Tom, not usually a person renowned for his patience, was tempted to Avada Kedavra him and be done, but something stopped him. Undersized he might be, but there was an aura of power about the man which was evident despite his timid manner. Lord Voldemort frowned, and spoke.

“Who are you, sir?”

“Chrestomanci,” the other replied, almost apologetically.

“What?” There was a faint stirring at the back of Tom’s brain; he was not certain what impulse led him to say, “I can’t be expected to remember all of that. Chris will be sufficient.”

Whatever else, Voldemort and intended some measure of rudeness with this response, and it was disconcerting that this ‘Chrestomanci’ looked not annoyed but thrilled by the reply.

“Oh, you felt it!” he exclaimed, smiling at Tom as if he had passed an exam of some sort.

“Felt what?” The instinct to AK became stronger, but still Tom held back.

“The name. The power of the name.” Chrestomanci nodded. “Most people don’t, you know, which makes me more certain we’re on the right lines with you. People have doubted: you aren’t coming into the job in the usual fashion, you know.”

“Yo appear to be under some misapprehension.” Tom could feel heat rising inside him. “I have not applied for any job.” (Dark Lord, after all, was not a position for which one submitted a CV.)

“How could you?” Chrestomanci agreed. “Since the main criteria is having nine lives, it’s not something most people get a chance at.

Lord Voldemort was betrayed into an unusual moment of indiscretion. “But I only have seven,” he objected, then, realising what he had admitted, he tried to withdraw. “I mean…”

“Ye-es.” The other man looked worried, as if they had hit a stumbling block which was causing him concern. “I know precisely what you mean, and it is a problem. Most Chrestomancis, after all, don’t achieve their lives by ritual murder.”

Tom suspected, uncomfortably, that he was dealing with a highly intelligent and knowledgeable mad man. He seemed to know all about the… experiments – yet seemed uncertain of his own name.

“I thought you said your name was Chrestomanci,” he said suspiciously.

“No.” The man looked apologetic. “Oh dear, we appear to have got off on the wrong foot here. My name is Cat; my profession, if you will, is Chrestomanci.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t you?” asked Cat quietly, and Tom was disconcerted to realise that for all the improbability of the matter, he did in face believe what he was being told. He had a quick attempt at legilimency, but hit the mental equivalent of a brick wall: Cat appeared not even to notice Tom’s attempt.

“What do you want with me?” Lord Voldemort demanded.

Cat sighed, and leaned back. “At last we’re getting somewhere,” he said with apparent contentment. “Now, it’s like this: I am Chrestomanci, and I need a successor. We have been concerned by the utter lack of another nine-lived person to take over after my eventual demise. And then,” he smiled gently at Tom, “we found you.”

There was evidently little point in denying his work to create extra lives for himself. Tom did not bother to try. “As I told you, the number is seven,” he said brusquely.

“No.” Cat leaned forwards again. “You see, we’ve been interested in you for some time. Usually, there is one ‘version’ of you – if you like – in a series of nine worlds. Occasionally – and this is where the Chrestomanci bit comes in – there is a singleton born, with all nine lives to himself. But you…” He looked seriously at Lord Voldemort. “Only seven of you. Very interesting. Two worlds without any Tom person at all. We weren’t sure which of the rest of you had the extra two lives, however, until you started murdering the others.

“You are incorrect,” snapped Tom. “I killed Muggles – in my own ‘world’, presuming you are correct about the many world part, which you must give me leave to doubt.”

Cat smiled. “My mentor – the previous Chrestomanci – would have said that you had his leave to doubt anything you liked. There’s nothing like encouragement to disbelieve a thing to stop you wishing to. Anyway” – he snapped back to the present – “you’re quite correct: you have been murdering people in your own world, which to be honest I think is in very poor form, though I had a sister with designs in the same way. You, at least, are using your own magic: she took mine until I rebelled.  
“But the point is, every time you snapped your soul apart, one of the other Toms died. Right on the spot – very difficult to explain. And, of course, now there is only you left, with all nine lives to yourself.” Cat’s face took on a somewhat pained expression. “I do with you could have found a less unpleasant way to do it: it’s not precisely in the Chrestomanci spirit to kill people to gain your point – generally it’s seen as cowardice. But there you are, and here we are, and there’s no going back on it now, more’s the pity. And the fact is, you are not the only other person in the multi-verse with nine lives.”

“I have nine lives?” Tom could not keep his pleasure out of his voice. A maniacal grin came over him.

Cat nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, you don’t need to feel sorry about it.” Lord Voldemort was veritably licking his lips. “The power,” he murmured to himself, “the beautiful power…”

“Yes,” said Cat patiently, “but you still don’t understand. You see, there are responsibilities that go with being Chrestomanci. This ‘Dark Lord’ business…”

Tom looked up sharply. He had not yet mentioned, even to his closest allies, his intention to become the most feared wizard of all time. “Yes?”

Cat shook his head. “No. No, I’m sorry, but it’s all off. You’re going to have more than enough to do keeping the multi-verse in order without trying to dominate this world. And anyway,” he added apologetically, “it wasn’t going to work, you know. Forty years or so from now, a baby called Harry is due to be born, and if you were to go on with the plan, he would scupper all your chances. No, the best thing is just to accept it and become the next Chrestomanci. The responsibilities aren’t too arduous once you get the hang of it, and I can promise power…”

“Yes?” Tom was disconcerted by having his life plans demolished, but the world ‘power’ would always gain his attention.

“There’s just one small thing,” Cat admitted.

“What is it?”

Cat spread his hands out, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m awfully sorry, but you’re going to have to learn to be good…”


End file.
